The Angels May Dance
by xYours Trulyx
Summary: A story of Meg Giry and The Opera Ghost; Full Summary inside, Phantom/Meg. Based off of the movie. T for safety
1. Prologue

**Summary: **After the fateful scene when Christine saves Raul and the Phantom disappears, Meg dedicates her life to finding him. Her mother saved him once, not it's time for a second coming, but who is saving who? Based off of the movie by Andrew Loyd Webber. **Phantom/Meg**  
**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters or original story, just the plotline.

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Journal Entry 1, March 3rd 1874

I have not just started my lifelong quest, but have now begun to write of it in this journal. I am Meg Giry, the daughter of Madame Giry, who is the dance director at the Opera Popularie and inadvertently responsible for my current state of affairs. If it weren't for her…I suppose it is only right to say things would have been different.

Four years ago, life at the Opera House turned upside-down. My closest friend, Christine Daaé, saw the worst of it. The Opera Ghost wreaked havoc upon us while pining for the heart of Christine. "The Phantom" as he was often called, eventually offered her a life with him for the life of her lover, Raul, but not after leaving the Opera House in disarray. Christine saved her love and escaped the Phantom's threats. Meanwhile, myself and others from the cast and crew came searching…

I found four years ago the mask of the Opera Ghost, what is now my only token of his existence, the only reminder of his presence in this world. But no…I can still hear him. I can hear his voice echo through the halls of the Opera House, which has been undergoing construction recently. Well, since the Chandelier incident, it has been in constant repair. Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin are buzzing like honeybees around the Opera House in a frantic haste to renew its glory. It was during the early stages of construction that my journey for the Phantom began.

At that point, Christine and Raul were planning their wedding. My dear friend was the happiest I had ever seen her, and we spent all of our time together planning the reception.

_"Meg?" she said from behind one of many wedding bouquet arrangements._

_"Yes, Christine?" I replied._

_She opened her mouth to speak, but swallowed back the words and started anew. "What do you think of these roses?"_

_I could see through her walls immediately. "I think they're lovely. Now what is it you were going to say?"_

_"It's nothing." She smiled and continued down the line of bouquets._

_"You weren't going to ask me about flower arrangements, Christine." I said. "And whatever it is you were going to say is still troubling you. I see it on your face, now spit it out." The friendly chuckle I offered her was meek and dishonest, and she knew I had caught her._

_"You're right." Christine sighed. She stopped perusing through the bouquets and turned to me with saddened eyes. "Meg, I want to know if…"_

_"Yes?" I prompted._

_"If you still think about the Phantom."_

_The air in my lungs froze and my mouth went dry. After a few seconds of stumbling, I was able to speak again. "You know?"_

_Christine only nodded._

_"I just…I just wonder where he vanished to." Slowly, my composure was coming back._

_"I know, Meg, and I don't judge you for it." Christine gave me a reassuring smile. "But please…keep what is past, past. The future is a bright, spring morning after the winter storms."_

The wedding was three weeks later. I haven't spoken to Christine since.

Her words probably should have given me more of a caution, but in the end I simply could not stay away from the Opera Ghost mystery. Something else, however, kept me enthralled by the Phantom. Christine spoke of him as an Angel of Music and she heard him sing in her mind. I believe I can hear him, too.

So today, four years later, I live in London, following clues that might lead to the Phantom. My mother was reassuring, but dismayed at my leaving nonetheless. I write to her often, and she gives me any information that might be helpful on my expedition. And I continue to search, hoping with an illogical hope that I might find him. I still can't explain it…I just know that I must. If not for just my curiosity, for his welfare. His tortured, mourning heart. His requiem of a lost love that rings in my ears.

I will find him.

I will heal him.

I will love him.

**Reviews? Please let me know if anyone liked this or not. I promise it will get more exciting, and the rest of it will not be written in journal form, this is just for the prologue. Really. The more reviews, the more motivated I am to write!**

**-xYours Trulyx **


	2. Chapter One: Meeting

**Disclaimer: **I will say this one more time (but it still refers to the entire story), I do not own Phantom of the Opera and its characters. Also, I am prone to typos and misspellings, so please forgive any that you come across.

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Chapter One:  
MEETING

The smell of coffee brewing flowed through the small bistro house and mingled with sounds of the patrons' chatter, making any conversation difficult to hear. And yet Meg enjoyed it all.

The young blonde had become quite a regular nowadays, sipping a cup of tea while poring over some newspaper or book. Her brave brown eyes never missed a beat. She knew what the old man beside her would order, or where the couple across the room would be going to next. But today, she wouldn't bother with trivial information. No book could occupy her thoughts, no conversation could hold her attention. She idly stirred her tea and locked her gaze upon the bistro door.

Soon enough, the little bell above the doorframe chimed as a uniformed man entered the café. At first glance, one could see he was a police officer from the blue ensemble he wore and the badge pinned to his cape. He was of average height and build, with wispy golden hair that framed his youthful face. The officer scanned through the tables before settling upon Meg's and he swiftly made his way in her direction.

"Constable Armand," Meg greeted, standing to shake the officer's hand.

He gladly took it and offered her a friendly smile. "Miss Giry. I pray that London is treating you well."

They both took their seats at the table as a waiter scuttled by to take Armand's order.

"Paris was never as exciting." Meg replied. For a moment or two, they shared a casual discussion of the weather, the tea, and the inability to track down a good tailor, until finally neither of them spoke at all.

The constable exhaled, tearing his gaze away from the table and facing his companion. "Right, well then…the reason I'm here." He pulled out a wad of paper from his coat pocket and set them on the wooden surface. "The map to the Opera Comique on Wych Street, and the blueprints of the building. It has only been open for several years…four, I believe. And just recently, the 'appearances' have occurred. You say you know this 'Opera Terror?'"

Meg kept her eyes level with the documents. "He first preyed upon the Opera Popularie in Paris. He disappeared before anyone could find him. Now he is here, in London? Living in the Opera Comique?" Her eyes shot up with a gleam of curiosity.

"Well," Armand said. "I doubt he lives there. No one has come across any traces of him, in that sense."

"They wouldn't." Meg interrupted. "He lived in an underground chamber beneath the Opera for years and no one knew of it. Well, almost no one. But do go on."

The Constable nodded and continued. "Despite that fact that no one has seen this Phantom, most everyone has heard him. There is melancholy music resonating off the walls of the theater, and recently there have been reports of vandalism amidst the Opera House. The police are keeping an eye on it, but it would be most helpful if…"

"If you had a little insight." Meg finished for Armand when he struggled for the words. "Yes, well, you and I would both be doing each other favors. That is why I am here. How can I help?"

Like a fog at midmorning, the somber mood between them evaporated and a brightness filled the room. "Indeed!" Armand said, his face pinching together in a cheerful smile. "A couple other officers and I got the idea of you joining the Opera's ballet and getting an inside look into the Opera House. There is so much more you could find living there than a police force holding a search."

Meg sat back in her chair. "So, I would be like a spy?"

"Something of that sort, I suppose." Armand said, following suit and leaning back into his own chair. "It would be brilliant."

"Perhaps." Meg said under her breath. "But _he _would know. He'd figure it out the second he'd see me with a police officer. No, I would have to go entirely alone, only meeting you in secret. You understand, right? The Phantom is not just an 'Opera Terror.' He's amazingly clever."

Armand began to realize that his companion was right. "Yes, yes. Even the public cannot know of it. You must enroll just like any normal person. It may be more difficult to get in without a police escort, though…"

"I can do it." Meg said confidently. "My mother has many connections."

"Perfect! It is set then!" Armand clapped his hands together. "Take these documents with you, study them, and contact your mother. When can we meet again?"

"Saturday, at the London Pavilion. Meet me there at noon."

"Done. Good day, Miss Giry."

Meg nodded, shaking the officer's hand once more. "Good day to you, too, Constable." She watched as Armand left the bistro and things returned to normal again. A sudden lump formed in her throat and the feeling of being watched enveloped her. Saturday was just three days away. She hoped she could shake off the feeling before then.

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**A/N: Okay, this chapter turned out kind of different than I imagined it would. As always, please tell me what you think by clicking that "Submit Review" button at the bottom here. Many thanks. More to come!!**

**-xYours Trulyx**


	3. Chapter Two: Secrets

**A/N: In regards to one of the reviews, **

"**If she is suppose to love Erik why would she work with the constable to find  
him??" **

**Meg needed the Constable's help because she did not know where Erik is and Armand was the man who did. Meg didn't really look beyond that, she was only searching for what she needed. But Armand and the London Police want to track down Erik once and for all. Meg is just a little blind to this because of her eagerness to find The Phantom. I hope this clears things up!**

Chapter Two:  
SECRETS

The London Pavilion, a large, pillared edifice in the middle of a widespread courtyard, was always a busy place. But today, people were scrambling for a different reason: to escape the rain. The sky showed no mercy and continued to pour down upon the helpless city. Anyone not yet sheltered from the storm was using whatever they could--newspapers, coats, umbrellas--to shield themselves.

Running towards the Pavilion, Meg clutched a discarded magazine above her head before finally making it safely to the curb. She began to search for the Constable Armand, but the search was unnecessary, for his familiar voice appeared from behind.

"A little unprepared for the London rain, are we Miss Giry?" The youthful officer chuckled.

Meg whipped around, water spewing from her hair with the motion. "Paris never had such fickle weather as this, Constable." The two stared each other down good-humouredly, then laughed, if not a bit awkwardly.

Armand nodded towards the building behind them and led Meg inside. They shook themselves off and entered, thankful to escape the rain. Indoors, the Pavilion was just as grandiose as the outside, furbished with Grecian statues and large tapestries, intricate tiles and over the top lighting. Meg stared in awe at all the fine artistry, only vaguely registering the music coming from the hall.

"I thought you said you've been here before." Armand said.

Meg blushed. "I've never actually been inside. Remember, I'm still new to this city."

The Constable smiled. "Right. Well, back to business then. Did you contact your mother?"

"Yes," Meg answered in a rush, drifting back to the conversation at hand. "Yes, I did, and she wrote a letter to the Opera Comique's ballet director. Here, I have a copy." She handed Armand a folded sheet of paper from her coat pocket, and he took it earnestly.

After a few moments when the Constable read over the letter, he thanked Meg and gave it back to her. "You should be accepted quite easily now." He said, his voice distant and his eyes in far-off places.

"Thank you." Meg tucked the letter back inside her pocket.

"I did nothing." Armand said. He returned to the present, smiling graciously upon the young blonde as if he had always done so. Another couple had entered the Pavilion to escape the rain, nearly bumping into Armand. He had to take a step forward to avoid getting wet.

Meg had to crane her neck to look up at the Constable because of their sudden proximity. "Nonsense. If it weren't for you, I'd still be sitting in the café, searching through newspapers for any clue to where--" A loud clash of symbols and the beat of a drum interrupted her.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the performance is about to begin!" Called a reedy man from the hall's doorway. Meg glanced inside the doors to the music hall, catching a quick glimpse of the stage and the orchestra.

Armand held out his arm expectantly for Meg. "Care to get a taste of London's culture, m'lady?"

Stunned, Meg pretended to give Armand's request great consideration. She tapped her chin, then smiled impishly and took his arm. "I would be delighted."

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

The Constable Armand and Meg exited the Pavilion several hours later, still chattering about the performance. When the arrived outside, they were pleasantly surprised to find that the rain had let up considerably and the sun began to shine through.

"I'm telling you, this weather." Meg stated jokingly. "So fickle."

Armand quietly chuckled, but neither of them said much afterward. Several minutes had passed before the Constable finally spoke up again. "Well, Miss Giry, I hope you have no troubles on your hunt for the Phantom."

"It's not a hunt, Monsieur." Meg insisted abruptly. In a calmer voice, she added, "What I mean is…I'm not…it's just…"

"I know." Armand corrected. "Wrong choice of words. I apologize."

Meg bit her tongue. "Well, thank you, Constable--"

"Do call me Armand," he pleaded.

"_Armand,_ thank you. For today, and for your help." Meg smiled, offering him a farewell and turning back towards the street. She crossed over to the sidewalk and soon vanished out of sight.

The Constable stayed a moment outside the Pavilion. "Believe me, m'lady." He muttered to no one but himself. "The pleasure was all mine."

-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-

"Did she get in?"

"Not yet, but by the looks of the letter her mother wrote to the Opera Comique, I'd say she's as good as gone."

"I'll believe it when I see it. Do you feel that she trusts you?"

A dark chuckle rumbled from the one with the youthful voice. "Like a string around my finger. It's just a matter a time before she leads us right to the Phantom's lair."


	4. Chapter Three: Audition

**A/N: Sorry it's been a while since I've updated. But summer is finally here!**

Chapter Three:  
AUDITION

Nerves shot within Meg like an electric current, surging through her extended limbs as she stretched on the grand stage of the Opera Comique. The girls around her followed suit and dispersed amongst the stage. A tangible apprehension hung in the air so thickly that it could be cut with a knife, or so Meg imagined. Her eyes unwillingly darted from girl to girl, sizing up what would be her competition to join the Opera Ballet.

_I sound like a petty child._ Meg reprimanded herself. _I'm here for one purpose and one purpose only._ With this in mind, she had a newfound determination to be accepted into the Opera House. She shut her eyes and reached farther into her stretch. Her supple limbs were somewhat out of shape, having not been exercised in such a long time. Thus more reason to focus.

Despite her mother's help, Meg still had to go through the auditioning process just as everyone else did. She almost hoped it would happen this way, that she wouldn't just be handed a golden ticket, so she could get a better feel for the environment. And though she would never admit it, this was the perfect way to get her dancer's fluidity back again.

A sharp clap upon the stage alerted everyone that their stretching time was up.

"Ladies," said a small, cat-like figure from the right curtain. Out stepped a middle-aged women wearing all black--black, long pants and a turtle-necked sweater that nearly swallowed her while at the same time giving her the appearance of height. Her long, sable tresses were kept in a neat bun, while wispy grey hairs escaped around her short face. Most interesting of all, the woman's eyes glowed green like a cat's, matching the feline air she wore.

"Ladies, please make a line facing the orchestra." The woman said in a clear, soprano voice. All of the girls did as they were told quickly and without speaking while their instructor paced slowly across the platform.

Once everyone was in place, the women proceeded. "I am Madame Volsav, the conductor of ballet here at the Comique. With me today are Isaac DeBaulier, the Opera's stage manager, and our very own prima ballerina, Clara Lutiese. They will be assisting me in the auditions."

Sitting upon matching stools that lined the perimeter of the stage were the other two judges. The first, Monsieur Isaac, was a short man with a tall disposition. His graying hair betrayed his youth, but he had all the stance of a king.

The second, Clara Lutiese, sat upright and proper, her deep green eyes boring into everyone of the girls auditioning. She was blessed with the blonde hair of an angel and it was fixed into a bun that not even an earthquake could unravel. Overall, Meg thought these people were horrid.

Madame Volsav clapped her hands again and joined her accomplices on a stool of her own. She produced a stack of papers from her shirt pocket and read the first line.

"Number One, Miss Ruth Witherton, please step forward. The rest of you, please exit on the right."

The hopefuls did as they were told and waited in the wings while the first contender took the stage. Ruth was young and sprite-like, bouncing up and down the platform with nervous energy. Meg almost felt bad for the girl, until she realized her own body was choked with nerves. This would be a long day.

I-I-I

Girl after girl auditioned, performing with the will to please the judges. Meg's gaze usually fell upon Clara, watching dubiously from her stool.

Then, without warning, Madame Volsav called from the list, "Number thirteen, Miss Meg Giry."

Meg felt her stomach heave and then drop again most uncomfortably as she stepped forward. She nodded towards her superiors, then to the orchestra. A soft melody began to play, the intro, and she shut her eyes. _This is easy stuff…the things of children. _Her stomach heaved again. _Just dance like no one is around. Dance like an Angel in Heaven. _She remembered her mother's favorite metaphor fondly, and felt ready to begin. Which was suitable, for her few seconds to prepare were up. The orchestra started their song and no later had Meg begun her dance.

Graceful extensions of her arm, elegant lines in her leaps, effortless spins on her toes. She wove her motions together like a spider weaves its web. Her legs were aching, her abdomen in the tightest discomfort, yet she clung to the determination of making the party of ballerinas, in hopes of finding her goal; the Phantom.

The music faded into an ending and Meg took a humble bow before leaving the stage. Her face was so flush and her stomach quite distorted that she hardly remembered to see the judges faces, to tell if they were pleased. Instead, she rushed behind the curtain and towards a dark corner backstage, heaving out her previous meal. A few of the other dancers turned to look, but shied away, repulsed.

Meg put one hand upon the wall, bracing herself against it. Her lungs were burning, screaming at her for her cruelty. The pains in her stomach wretched in all directions. A punishment to its master. Then, resisting the bile that scratched at her throat, Meg chuckled. Insane, maniacal, laughter that bubbled from her lips for just a brief moment. _That felt so good._ She finally determined to herself. Her eyes looked up to the dark ceilings. She could hardly see anything, for the lights were facing the stage, not these corners lying in shadow. But no, she did see something. A slight movement, a vague glimpse. Then nothing more. Breathing out a long awaited sigh, Meg pulled herself up from the floor (with the aid of the wall for support) and went to wait with the others for the results. She only paid vague interest in the remaining dancers. A stagehand offered her some water, which she gladly and eagerly took.

I-I-I

The girls were sent to the dressing rooms once they had all finished, meanwhile Madame Volsav and her companions deliberated on the stage.

"I tripped on that last pirouette." said a distraught dancer. It was number seven, Julia. She plopped herself on a divan and wiped her eyes.

"Like _you _need to fret any." another girl commented, joining Julia on the couch. "Your lines are perfect, and they say that's all a dancer needs."

"Poppycock." Ruth, the first to audition, added. "It's how well you can hold yourself, that's what makes a dancer desirable."

There was similar chatter throughout the room, all of which Meg did not care for. She kept to her thoughts, sipping on a glass of water, glancing around the dressing room. She would have stayed this way if it weren't for another dancer striking up a conversation with her.

"You're not from London, are you?" She asked. Meg recognized her as number twelve, but she forgot her name.

"I am not. I come from Paris, the Opera Popularie." Meg replied quietly. How she wished she could just return to her thoughtful silence.

But the girl persisted. "Paris! So that means you learned under Madame Giry!" She said the name with awe.

Another dancer, the one who had come to the aid of Julia, piped in. "You're Meg Giry…you're her daughter?" The last part rolled off her tongue like a curse.

Meg, feeling the blush return to her cheeks, meekly answered, "I am."

The room gave a quiet gasp, the kind that was evident, but avoiding to sound rude at the same time. "So you must be biased." someone, Meg didn't know who, spat.

"Hardly!" Meg retorted. She didn't like how this was going. "I've had to work just as hard as anyone else to be here."

No one spoke up after that, but that could have been due to the stagehand who bid everyone to enter the stage once more. Meg could feel the stares burn through the back of her neck as they walked out of the dressing room.

I-I-I

"Numbers one, five, seven, and eight…you may leave." Madame Volsav ordered in an emotionless tone. The girls that were called did as were commanded to, but not without shedding a few tears. Meg swallowed for the hundredth time. Less and less girls were left on the stage. It was down to herself and three others. Only two would be chosen.

"Numbers…" Madame Volsav looked at her list again, double-checking. "Twelve and fifteen, you may leave. That means number thirteen and number eleven, you may stay."

The knot that had formed in Meg's stomach loosened considerably. She had done it! She had made it into the Opera Comique's ballet! Her relief was astounding.

"Congratulations, ladies. Welcome to the Comique. Tomorrow starts your first day of practice. I expect you here at 6:00 in the morning prompt and ready. Understand?"

Meg and the other girl nodded eagerly. "Then you may leave." Madame Volsav gave nothing more for a farewell. Monsieur Isaac and Clara Lutiese followed the ballet instructor off the stage. Likewise, the two dancers walked across the left curtain and back to the dressing room.

"You won't last a day in London." Muttered the other girl, who Meg finally recognized as the one who called her biased.

Meg was taken aback. "Excuse me?"

The girl scoffed. "You're just a ballerina's daughter trying to make it big on your mother's reputation. I hate to break it to you, but you will be eaten alive by the rest of us. I'll look to it personally." She smiled a crooked, villainous grin.

Fuming, Meg could not bite back her retort this time. "It is obvious that Madame Volsav saw more that just 'my mother's reputation' or else I wouldn't be here, now would I? And I am not afraid of you, or anyone else. My eyes have seen more than yours could ever dream of, and I intend on staying here a long while. Is this a problem with you? Because you're welcome to leave at any time." Meg's visage turned up in a scoffing smile, not as petulant as her rivals, but plainly annoyed nonetheless. She turned on her heel without a second glance in the girl's direction. She was tired enough as it was. She did not need this little irritant buzzing in her ear like an insect.

No. She had to focus on what was ahead. She would be here at 6:00, do her job in the ballet, meanwhile finding the time for her search. She made it this far. Now nothing would stand in her way.


End file.
